


Before the Flare

by galaqa



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4971301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaqa/pseuds/galaqa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At merely 20 years old he's thrown into the apocalypse, a world of fire, pain, death, and disease. He survives through it all, trying his best simply to stay alive, only to become the "villain" in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

Walking at a brisk pace, feet seeming to barely skirt the ground as he hurried along, he made is way towards the City Square. The young scientist's purpose in his walk was that of utmost importance, to him at least, meeting up with his visiting friend, a man named Joseph, who'd moved out of the country years ago. The twenty year old slipped his way through the usual, bustling morning crowd of the city, grey eyes sharp and alert - looking for the building he needed to enter and spotting the all too familiar double doors quickly.

Immediately upon moving from the large mass of people and through the entrance of just one in many similar looking buildings he felt a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding release from his lungs. He _hated_ crowds, but nonetheless he recollected himself quickly and turned in a semi circle, scanning the nearby area for his companion. The ground floor of that building was a walk in restaurant, but below was a club - open 24/7 for whatever reason - and he recalled, with a sharp exhale in the form of a quick laugh, that Joseph had a particular love for clubs. Moving once more he found himself at the stairs leading down into the area, and even from where he stood he could feel the music pounding below. Sucking in a breath between his teeth he began to move to place his foot down on the step below, when a tremendous crash sounded around him - and his world caught fire.

The floor seemed to break beneath him, and he fell forward onto his stomach - lucky enough to be shielded slightly by the stairwell's walls. Nonetheless he felt the burst of burning heat in the air, and suddenly found himself unable to breath as if all oxygen had simply left the area. He knew he needed to move, but as soon as he began scrambling forward and down the stairs a searing pain suddenly shot up his back. He realized with a choked inhale that he couldn't feel a good portion of the area between and below his shoulder blades - and that his hearing had become muffled. As his world began to clear he saw the fire - everywhere - and heard the blood curdling screams of those unfortunate enough to be caught in it. 

The heat began to grow more intense as his fogged brain began to process all of this, and this time he successfully scrambled down the stairs into the small alcove between the end of the stairs and the doors into the club portion of the building. Without thinking he kept moving, expecting the doors to move inwards with his momentum, only to smack painfully into them - they didn't budge. Stumbling back a growing horror rose up inside him, and despite the pain he moved forward and placed his hands firmly on the already soot covered surface - pushing his fingers between the two doors - and pulling them with a jerk open in his direction.

The sudden flood of dust and soot made him stumble back in a coughing fit, and as soon as his eyes cleared he processed what had happened.

The entire room had collapsed in on itself - and as soon as his breathing cleared enough for him to be coherent he began up the steps to check the ground floor, the club's roof, but was stopped short by the sudden wave of intense heat. Feeling dizzy and nauseated he made his way back down, sinking to his knees in the corner of the small alcove and not daring to lean his god knows how badly injured back on the wall.

With a continuously fogging mind he concentrated on what possibly could have caused all of this, what could have even happened. Earthquake? No, that wouldn't explain the heat - which he highly doubt at such intensities the surrounding city was still in tact. Closing his eyes he concentrated on his breathing, rubbing his temples with his hands and suppressing the growing panic inside his gut. With a start his eyes snapped open.

_Sun flares._

It had to be. And if that where correct then he knew damn well he was getting most likely lethal amounts of radiation in his system - he had to move, get farther underground and let the radiation settle before he dared go out. But it wasn't long before he considered the after affects of such an event.

With a wheezing exhale the third heart stopping realization in the past five minutes came to him, and he shuddered at the thought.

_Flooding_. The polar caps would be melting at deadly rates, thinking about it he estimated about a few hours time before the flooding hit the city, or assumed _ruins_ of the city, he was in- but he couldn't be sure. All he knew at that point is that he needed to move.

He stood suddenly, almost passing out from the sudden change in position. Taking short quick breaths he swore he could feel the radiation doing its toll on his body. At most he had an hour or so before the radiation itself killed him, let alone the fires, heat, and soon to be flooding. Nonetheless, despite the intensifying pain on his back, he forced his legs to walk up the steps once more - staggering at the burst of scalding air. Steeling himself he moved forward, only for a quick look at the floor above.

Everything was in ruins, the heat at nearly deadly temperature, and as expected the ground floor had collapsed in on the floor below. Nonetheless he noticed with relief the main support beams of the building remained untouched - but he needed to get to higher ground. The stairs leading upwards to the second and so on floors where across the room, across the large gap where the floor had caved in. Somehow, he needed to get across - and _quickly_.

Thinking quickly he glanced around, head becoming more and more foggy, his stomach twisting into knots, when he spotted a rickety path to the other side. A few boards here and there, a crumbled support beam, he didn't quite process his luck as he pressed the fabric of this shirt to his nose, trying to filter out the sudden piercing smell of fire, dust, soot, and burning flesh - and he made a mad dash for the path.

The temperatures rose drastically as he did, and he felt the uncovered skin of his arms, face, and parts of his back, beginning to blister - knowing he only had a few minutes he moved faster than he'd ever moved before. Jumping across on boards and concrete it all went past in a blur until his foot caught, and he smacked into the crumbled slab of support beam. With a small cry he scrambled up - it was practically boiling hot.

Nonetheless he kept moving, getting the rest of the way across with little issue. Swiftly he sped up the stairs, struggling to get enough air into his lungs - every inhale feeling as if it was feeding the fire set in his chest. Still, he knew as long as he kept to the upper floors, away from windows, he'd live. There where probably vending machines to live off of, and he felt himself slip in and out of waking conscious - only really snapped back to reality about an hour later once he'd situated himself in one of the upper floors of the building. He'd encountered few other people in there, the smell of corpses and burning flesh overpowering, and those he saw alive didn't look as though they'd be alive much longer.

Gnawing absentmindedly at some jerky he'd nicked from a broken vending machine he felt his mind clear some, and only then did he really begin to feel the pain. Dropping the food in his hand he began to retch, not soon after emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor - and scooting away from the bile with a shudder. Curling up in a near fetal position he shivered some, despite the blistering heat of the world around him, and took a few labored breaths to quell the oncoming flood of anxiety. Slowly he calmed himself down enough to stop shivering, shutting out the rest of the outside world and trying simply to forget it all for just a few moments.

To his surprise he soon found himself asleep, the exhaustion from everything making his body finally give out. The pain in his back was still just as sharp, but not enough to overpower the exhaustion.

And a mere moment later he found himself awoken face to face with a girl, no older than 15, staring him dead in the eye.

"Be quiet, don't you dare say a _word._ "


	2. Companion

Eyes most likely as wide as saucers he obeyed, nodding quickly at the girl. He had no idea what she was doing, if she was friendly or not, her eyes where dark and hard - but held an undertone of kindness. As if she where trying to help him. The girl, her dark skin shining with sweat most likely from the stifling heat, sat up then. She was sitting cross legged before him, her dark hair up in tight curls at the back of her head, in a pair of soot stained cargo pants, along with a pair of beaten sneakers plus a tank top coupled with an old bomber jacket. He realized that such cover would protect her from the sun, she'd been lucky - considering.

When he really concentrated on her eyes, though he was having issues focusing his vision, he noticed her glancing at the door, it looked as if she where listening for something. Silently he began to train his ear in to whatever she was listening to, and with a hitched breath he heard the unmistakable sound of a gruff man's voice outside. With an expression of alarm he stared at the girl, who only gave a somber nod in reply. _She's helping me_ , he thought, _Why else would she be in here?_

Moving silently he sat up, earning a sharp look from his new companion, and listened until the sounds stopped altogether.

"The name's Bee." The girl said after a few minutes of dead silence, swiveling her gaze to watch him - her eyes hawk like.

"Uh - Johannes ..." He stammered, sitting up fully then and sucking in a sharp breath at the sudden pain in his head.

"Take it easy, you got radiation poisoning, not really that surprising though. Not lethal but enough to really screw you up." She chided him, as though he where the child and she the older one. She shifted some as she sat, leaning back and pressing her palms on the floor for support. He blinked a few times at her statement, squinting slightly at her.

"I'm perfectly aware of that actually -" He replied tersely, shifting his position and noticing the pressure of bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Bee must have noticed his look, her brow rose and she spoke up.

"I found ya here a few days ago, you where out cold, with a lotta third, second, and first degree burns on your back, arms, and hands. I tried to patch ya up as best I could with what I had - but without proper medical treatment, your backs gonna be scarred for the rest of your life." She breathed out easily, as if bored by it all and merely speaking about the weather instead of a lifelong reminder of his injuries, before adding one more thing, "Though that might not be much longer."

"How optimistic." He replied in feint annoyance, his face showing his gratitude. Johannes wasn't particularly good at vocalizing his thanks, and Bee seemed to pick up on that rather quickly - as she just nodded, the gesture accompanied by a small smirk. After a few moments of silence, not particularly awkward in all honesty, he furrowed his brow and glanced at her "How long has it been...?"

"Hm ... well I'd say about a week or so since the flares hit." Came her reply, and she shrugged again. _She seems so calm about this_ , he thought with a grimace, "Anyways, Joe, how'd ya come to get here? You musta been one lucky son of a gun to've ended up here with just those burns."

He took a few moments to process the question, and he cringed slightly at the nickname "Er - don't ... don't call me that. And I came here to see an old friend ..." His sentence cut off, and he realized with the all too familiar feeling of horror that Joseph was most definitely dead. No doubt about it.

Bee seemed to notice his expression change yet again, she was quite observant in hindsight "Alright, you got a last name? Johannes is too weird to say." Quickly she diverted the subject, getting enough information as it was from his words, and he visibly relaxed some.

"Janson." He let out a chuckle, rolling his eyes "And what exactly is so difficult about calling me Johannes?"

"'S too long." Bee replied in a whiny voice, and he found suddenly that he quite liked this girl. It felt as though he'd known her for years, and yet they'd merely been talking for a few minutes.

"Anyways Janson - wait no, _Jansy_ -" In spite of himself he snorted slightly at that nickname, and she practically grinned "Since I know nothing about you, and despite the fact you could be a serial killer or something like that, I've decided you're joining me in my quest to survive this real life apocalypse."

At the word apocalypse he choked on air for a moment, and she quirked a brow. The silence was stifling then, and Bee took a minute or two to reply. Her expression was slightly pained when she did.

"Do you even know what happened?" He drew a breath, calming his thundering heart and nodding slightly.

"Well I'd already assumed sun flares, which would cause flooding as well-" He began.

"Bingo," She cut him off before he could continue "Everything's in ruins basically, lotsa people are dead, the floods from the poles where boiling hot and destroyed a lot more than the flares did. 'S not a fun time. I wouldn't bother tryin' to find your family, they're probably long gone."

"I..." He was left slack jawed and horrified once he processed her words, fighting back tears at her last statement - and her hardened look softened. He couldn't help but feel embarrassed though, here he was, an adult choking back tears while a teenager was completely straight faced and unemotional in front of him. To Johannes it was mortifying, he felt his face flush out of embarrassment - something she probably noticed but he wished she didn't anyways.

"... Listen I'm sorry - my family's been ... gone for a while already. I'm used to swallowing emotions n' all that - but I get you're probably not ... just, don't think about it okay? But don't come cryin' to me about that stuff." The end of her statement was laced with some humor, but kindness as well - it helped put him at ease, and he felt his embarrassment fade some.

"It's fine, don't - don't worry about it." He shook his head, running a hand through his cropped hair. Bee looked somewhat concerned still, but nodded nonetheless.

"Alright Jansy, I've gotten tired of sitting around in this room with your vomit. Whaddya say we move somewhere less smelly?"


	3. The First Trial

Over the next few weeks Johannes and Bee, her given name Beatrice as he soon found out, scavenged the place nearly clean. They'd packed up all the nonperishable food from vending machines into various makeshift bags for when they'd need to move - or be able to move for that matter. The pair quickly grew fond of each other, Johannes, or Janson (more often "Jansy") as Bee called him, began to think of her as a sort of little sister figure (though she'd never replace his _actual_ little sister, whose fate had nagged at the back of his mind constantly since he figured out what had happened, Bee said she was as good as dead at that point) - and though she seemed rather callous to the idea of siblings when it was brought up (he didn't pry) she'd admit he definitely resembled an older brother to her.

It wasn't too long until they ran into, as previously predicted, trouble. Luckily they'd been prepared for such an event, all of their food packed up and hidden, makeshift weapons made of pipes, broken shards of glass partially wrapped in cloth, and anything they could find. Bee seemed to know how to fight already, Janson on the other hand didn't have a clue. But she proved to be a decent enough teacher, and he picked up rather quickly. By the end of the day he'd figured out how to throw a good punch that wouldn't break his fingers, and how to block certain hits.

"There ya go Jansy, told ya it wasn't that hard!" A laugh escaped her lips when he managed to catch her fist in the crook of his elbow, finally, after managing to get punched quite a few times, succeeding. Despite how much he'd healed - his back stung from the movement, and with the stifling heat penetrating the building from the outside he was sweating quite a bit -- and could see Bee was too.

"Yeah ri-" His sentence was cut off abruptly by a loud crash from the floor below them, followed by someone bellowing a long line of foul curses soon after. He was already terrified, and from what Janson could put together this person was a considerable threat, noticing with a start the alarm on Bee's face.

"Do you know who that is?" He spoke in a hushed tone, his old accent filtering through his voice in his distress (Irish, though he'd left the country when he was 12), unaware until the words had left his mouth how scared he was. She seemed to hesitate at that, turning to look at him with wide eyes.

It was then he truly realized that she was still just a kid, standing a good foot shorter than him with the expression of a frightened child. She was a teenager, trapped in an apocalyptic hell, putting on face so she wouldn't appear as scared as she was. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. He felt protective instinct bubble up then, and Janson knew he'd kill anyone who dared try to inflict harm on her.

"He chased me here - I stole a boat, which sank after I managed to get here - but he must've found another one. I was hiding from him, that's how I found you - " She furrowed her brow some, seeming to wince at the mere memory. What this man did to her Janson didn't know, but it made his blood boil knowing he'd hurt her - even simply scared her. Nonetheless he saw the strength remain steady in her eyes, her posture, and he knew she could quite easily kill him, probably along with whomever it was who chased her - as long as he was unarmed. By the sounds of it however, the one pursuing them was most likely armed and dangerous.

"Can we take him?" The question was stupid, he knew that already, and it was answered by Bee's brow creasing and a heavy sigh leaving her lips.

"I doubt it - he has guns." She muttered, taking a deep breath and running a hand through her hair before looking him dead in the eye with a concerned expression "And you're in no condition to fight Jansy, remember - your back is burned to hell and back, not to mention you still got a lot more radiation in your system still than I do."

He found himself unable to reply, he couldn't deny her logic. Simply gathering supplies and training hurt like all hell and exhausted him, many times he had to stop and bite his lip to keep from crying out due to the pain - but he considered himself lucky considering, most of the burns had killed a number of nerve endings and only the outer damage was a source of pain. Nonetheless, it was healing - but slowly, which meant they where wasting time waiting around due to his inability to travel much. Bee had helped treat the burns though, soothing some of the pain by washing out the injuries and replacing the bandages to avoid infection. By the time they stood there the worst of the burns had healed enough for him to function, the second and first degrees where nearly completely healed, thus their preparation to leave, but he was in no condition to fight.

"The hell are we supposed to do then?" That came out much harsher than intended, and Bee simply gave him a look upon his realization - and regret - at his tone.

" _Slim it_ Jansy-" Well that was a term he'd never heard before "We can sneak out, we got everything packed. As long as we don't run into big, bad, n ugly we'll be fine." She crossed her arms, and he knew that was that. He sighed some, but nearly jumped into the wall beside him when another crash sounded - then a gunshot followed by a man's voice cursing at the top of his lungs, this time much closer than previous. When Janson looked at Bee he saw her face had gone pale, eyes wide, and he managed to snap her back to reality by grabbing her upper arm gently with a quick " _Time to go._ " before hurrying to gather as many packs as he could carry.

There where 5 packs total, two larger ones and three smaller. Bee carried the larger ones for better access to her weapon, a pipe with about half a dozen large shards of glass tied to the end, as she was the only of them who should actually fight. She slung the bags over her shoulders, the weight balanced out on each side, while Janson held the smaller packs in his hands. They hurried then, he made sure to shove his own makeshift weapon - a shard of glass with the lower half tied up in cloth for a grip - in his pocket, not the smartest place to keep it - but he didn't really have much other choice.

Within twenty minutes they where out of their safe haven, making their way through the winding halls of the once nice and clean looking office building. In the distance they heard the crashing of their ... companion stomping around, knowing they only had so much time they quickened their pace. But as their luck would have it, they merely turned two more corners before nearly running right into the man. Janson stopped short, a choked breath passing his lips at the sight of the other - a large, burly person with a number of scars marring his face and arms. He had a gun, actually a few, but the only one he held was a shotgun that looked as though he could kill with it without even firing it. Unfortunately they'd been noticed, and the man turned to them with a snarl - his eyes alight with sudden rage. With a bit of spittle at the corners of his mouth he shouted something unintelligible at Beatrice and lifted his gun, pointing it directly at her. Janson only had a mere second to react, and he used that time to push her out of the way - lifting up the small bags of food in his hands in front of his body.

The sharp crack and thump of the spray of bullets hitting the bags told him he'd protected himself - mostly, but he felt a painful burning sensation in his lower leg. But he didn't have time to glance down, instead he lunged forward - swinging the bags in an arc. They connected with their target and sent the shotgun in the mans hand crashing into the wall to his left. His momentum kept him moving, and he swung again with his arm - this time bringing the bags down on the mans head. He stumbled, before regaining his balance - his eyes alight. But Janson didn't stop, he dropped the bags and tackled his opponent - bringing his fists down onto the mans face repeatedly, seething with white hot anger.

He barely registered Bee tugging him off the other, the flaring of pain in his back, and the quick procession of gunshots that followed after. By the time he'd regained himself the man's head was but a splatter of blood and bullet holes on the floor, and when he looked at Bee she had the expression of pure indifference - hefting the shotgun in her hands as if she'd owned it all her life.

"What'd I tell you about fighting." Her tone was annoyed, as was her expression, and Janson almost recoiled in surprise. Still, he merely gave a guilty, somewhat pained, smile in reply. To which she simply sighed.

"Lets get the rest of his guns, then we're getting outta here." Leaning down she gathered the remaining weapons, not continuing from their previous line of conversation. In total they ended up with the shotgun Bee held, two rusty and scorched pistols, and a revolver along with a bag of ammo the man had strapped over his back. While Janson had been retching in the corner at the sight of the man's body, Bee wrestled off the bag, handing it to him so he could sling it over his shoulder. The weight of the bag on his back stung like hell, but he simply gritted his teeth and bared it.

When they'd finished they began to move again quickly, and the thought struck Janson as he did.

"How are we going to get out of here? Aren't all of the streets flooded up to the fourth floors?" He spoke between strides as they moved swiftly down another of many halls, Bee simply looked at him as if he where stupid.

"The blood splatter back there came in a boat, remember? How else would he have gotten here? We're gonna take it and make a beeline for the Appalachian Mountains." She kept moving, and Janson simply nodded - the adrenaline from the fight beginning to fade and sharp pain suddenly shooting up his leg a mere few strides later - along with a number of sharp pains from his back, far more intense then they'd been before. Uttering a sharp hiss through clenched teeth he stumbled slightly, looking down at his leg to see a cut in the side of his pant leg. In the spray of bullets sent by their now deceased opponent one had scored his calf, leaving a deep gash and a slowly growing circle of blood around it.

Bee noticed his injury with a slight start upon his calling attention to it, and turned - using her free hand to wrestle out some bandages from her pocket, the last of the ones they had. She wrapped up the wound, and they started off again - going down another few floors before becoming level with the ankle height water on the 5th floor.

Sloshing through the halls the water wasn't boiling, having been in the building - covered from the sun - long enough for it to cool, but it wasn't cold - it felt like bathwater. Still, they moved quickly, and low and behold a burnt, battered, and old motorboat floated gently near a broken wall length - tied to an old broken pole lodged solidly in the floor.

Silently they got to loading the boat up with their supplies, both sweating under the stifling heat of the sun - of the burning world outside. Luckily, the small boat had a tarp propped up over the hull, giving them cover from the scorching sunlight as they untied their vehicle from the pipe ( Janson making sure to save the rope for later use ) and Beatrice figured out the controls. Abruptly they sped off, her having finally figured enough out, nearly sending her companion sprawling out of the boat into the churning water below. With a sharp look he righted himself, wincing at the burst of pain from his back, and took up one of the guns they had - keeping a lookout behind them as they traveled away from their hideout and into the heat and flood ravaged world ahead.


	4. Beginning of the End

_The boat topples over, water rushes to greet them - filling their mouths. It burns his tongue as if he’d licked fire, and in his thrashing he glimpses upon her sinking beneath - only moving with the current of the water. He cries out, and is met with the near boiling liquid flames filling his lungs, reaching out for her before the life is finally choked from his body._

 

* * *

 

He woke with a start, shivering despite the heat around him in the small makeshift hut - tears pricking his eyes and breathing heavily. Shuddering he ran a hand through his dark hair, falling down to his chin now, pushing himself up into a sitting position. A grumble sounded from across the small room, the mass of tattered blankets moving slightly on the other cot. Slowly it rose and fell off her shoulders, and Beatrice looked to Janson with concern evident in her sleep fogged expression.

“Another nightmare?”

He merely nodded slightly, his breathing evening out, body releasing the tension upon her voice floating across the room.

It had been two years since they’d left their safe haven, made it to a slightly more habitable region with mountains - supposed to be ever so slightly cooler - neither of them entirely sure where exactly on the continent they where anymore. Not that it mattered, quite a bit of the planet had been reduced to a charred wasteland anyways. But they’d made it to a wooded area, where plant life was finally beginning to replenish itself. They’d heard from passing groups that multiple settlements had been set up, survivors. Despite that though Beatrice and Janson stayed somewhat apart from most of them, only daring to be within a half hour walk of one in case of emergency.

“Alright, I’ll start the fire this morning. You go get the water, alright?” Beatrice had matured hugely within those two years, 17 then she held herself like one well into their thirties, and the tiredness in her eyes was almost alarming. She hadn't grown any taller, the same height as when he'd met her when she was only 15 (they both estimated about 5'4) but that hardly mattered, she'd grown to be quite the intimidating young lady. She'd cropped her hair short a few times since then - unlike her companion. Janson hadn't seen the point in cutting his hair, found it a waste of time.

“Sure thing Bee.” He nodded, yawning slightly and throwing his legs over the side of the cot. The scarring on his back creaking painfully with the movement, with a hiss he slowly worked the stiffness from his joints and skin as his companion rose - pulling her hair up and using an old rubber band to tie it off - tying her old bomber jacket around her waist. At that point her frizzy and kinky hair fell to about her shoulders, and she almost always had it up and out of the way.

“You always look like an idiot doing those stretches.” The remark made him chuckle, rolling his eyes as he placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself up from the cot he called a bed.

“Well it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

They both trekked tiredly from the makeshift hut, a frankly shoddy thing made up of warped and mismatched boards they'd gotten through trade from the camp they'd stationed themselves near, one of the walls being made up of a thick oak tree that they'd built it up against. The old tarp they'd taken from the boat years previous acting as a roof.

As Beatrice crouched by the fire pit they'd made Janson turned to the side of the hut - picking up the large bucket they'd also traded for a year previous (Janson had spent a whole night scrubbing off all the rust, they didn't need tetanus on top of an apocalypse with no available treatment for such a thing) before moving off in the direction of a small creek a good 5 minutes walk from their own little camp.

By then a small path had been worn from both of their walking to and from over the months, and dried dirt crunched under his shoes as he walked. He cherished these walks, while it made him nervous to be alone it also felt a bit liberating. Moving his gaze upwards he saw the trees, finally beginning to thrive again after the destruction. The sight of greenery put Janson at ease almost immediately, it gave him hope - hope that one day the world could maybe return to some semblance to what it had been.

Kneeling down by the softly running creek he took a moment to dip his hand into the water, cool - a pleasant change from the still sometimes stifling heat of the sun. Cupping his hand he brought some of the liquid up to his face, properly waking himself up and cooling himself off a bit before plunging the bucket into the shallow stream, filling it up as much as he could before pulling it up again and setting it down on the bank. After a pause he drew a breath, rising and picking the bucket up again, his shoulder sagging some due to the weight being quadrupled with the water filling the thing, turning and beginning the trek back.

Once he'd returned Beatrice had a good fire going, and he placed the bucket down on the mesh grill above the fire - now all they had to do was wait for it to boil, then cool, and they'd have drinkable water for the day.

"Hows our food supply?" The question was a bit pointless, he ran a check over the supply himself every day - but he felt like asking anyways, staring at nothing in particular as he did. Beatrice took a moment to respond.

"It's alright, we'll have to ration it a bit but we can hold off a few more days before going into the settlement to get some more." She was about to continue speaking but abruptly fell silent, the words dying on her lips, jerking her head upwards as she stood. Staring at the sky.

"Beatrice?" Confusion evident on his face she merely shushed him, and it took a moment before he heard it too. The faint unmistakable deep, beating and thrumming noise in the distance. It seemed to come from multiple different directions, and he spun in a circle as the sounds suddenly began to intensify- trying to find the source, before Beatrice abruptly tugged his arm, hard, and spun him around - pointing.

He followed her aim and his eyes widened, seeing the berg lowering down towards the camp near them in the distance. There where words on the side of the white surface, but neither him or Beatrice could read them from that far.

It hovered there for a minute or so, and then all hell broke loose.

The sounds of shouting filled the air, screams ripping through the quiet - some abruptly cutting off, others sputtering off into silence as the faint chaos continued. A faint sound almost like bullets being shot could be heard, but it was too hollow ... almost like a dart gun being shot at high speeds.

" _Get inside!_ " Her grip on his arm tightened, and suddenly he was being pulled roughly through the door of their hut - which was quickly slammed closed and blocked by the nearest cot - and from inside the sounds where only barely muffled.

Then the thrum of the berg grew fainter, and eventually disappeared.

They remained huddled inside - pressed against the base of the tree wall of their little home, hearing the wails and screams slowly dying off, terrified of what awaited them outside - until darkness fell, and eventually morning came.


	5. Collapse

By the time dawn rose they both had merely fell into dreamless and fitful bouts of sleep, before finally making their way outside. The dead silence hung in the air like a fog, and neither of them said anything. For a few minutes they simply stood out there, staring at the ground, or at the sky.

"We... We should go see what happened." Beatrice eventually spoke, her voice soft, quiet. Broken. Chaos had broken out again, after so long in peace they'd grown accustomed to it. The sudden change had shattered their hope. No doubt people where dead, by those screams, and the sounds of strange gunfire. The bergs.

Neither of them had seen a berg in years.

Slowly, hesitantly, Janson nodded in agreement. And it took a few more moments for either of them to begin to gather their things for the short trek, and he stopped when he saw Beatrice slip a knife into her belt. She only gave him a tired look in return, shaking her head, and he knew why. They weren't safe anymore, that was obvious, they needed their weapons again to protect themselves.

Once sorted they began to walk, the fear weighing on them heavily. He was fidgeting with the edge of his shirt as they walked, eyes darting around nervously. They continued like this, Beatrice remaining completely silent, until they spotted a figure in the distance. Moving cautiously they advanced towards them, the tension in the air palpable - it was obvious something was off. Whoever it was, they weren't moving from their spot - rocking slightly from side to side. When they where about 10 yards away they stopped, the strangers back was turned to them.

"Hello...?" Beatrice called out to them after a few moments, and abruptly, as if her words had flipped a switch, they spun around. It was a man - his tattered clothes stained with blood, dirt, and god knows what else - a sleek black ... spine of some sort lodged into his shoulder, crusted over blood surrounding the wound. His eyes where wild, and he looked a few steps from death. He stumbled forward a few feet, mumbling something incoherent - his chest rising and falling violently, heaving.

"Sir-" Janson began to speak, but was cut off by the stranger sucking in a breath and letting out an ear splitting scream - pained and mad. Beatrice jumped beside him, and he recoiled as if he'd been struck.

" _The darts! The darts!_ " His voice was so loud he was no doubt doing damage to his vocal chords, and he stumbled forward a few more feet. His eyes where wild, distant, spittle flying from his mouth. Without warning he bowed his chin and began beating his own fists into the sides of his head - continuing to wail. The hits grew more violent, and Janson found himself frozen in place as the mans screams mixed with sobs.

"Get them out! _Get them out!_ " His shrieking grew louder, and Janson took a step forward - extending his hand, wanting to help. But his movement was cut off by Beatrice grabbing the back of his shirt - holding him firmly back. He glanced back at her, but by the stern look from her it was obvious she wasn't going to allow him to move any closer.

"Get what out?" He spoke calmly, comfortingly, to the man, who suddenly stopped - fists hovering over where he'd been hitting himself - the spots bruised and red already - looking up, tears streaking down his face.

"The bugs. _The bugs!_ They're in my head - eating my brain! _They're eating... my... brain!_ " He fully sobbed then, suddenly picking up the punching once again - this time much more violent, slamming his fists into the sides of his head so hard that the skin broke and blood began to bubble up from the wounds. Before Janson could even try to react the man collapsed to his knees, rocking back and forth for a few moments before leaning back abruptly, staring up at the sky - his eyes bulging out, and a broken, maddened, laugh escaped him. A pause ensued, the man staring upwards with shaking, heaving and strained breaths as Janson and Beatrice watched him with horror.

Abruptly he brought his head down into the ground with a sickening thud.

Neither of them moved as he continued this repeatedly, his screaming and hysterical laughter only broken by the sounds of his forehead hitting the ground - which soon became stained with blood. Beatrice was the first to take action, pulling Janson violently by the back of his shirt and taking off running back to in the direction they'd come. His gaze remained lingering on the man for a few moments before he whirled around and matched her stride easily, the mans screaming growing louder.

" _The darts! The darts!_ " Janson pressed his hands over his ears, continuing to run. But despite his efforts he heard the final thud, accompanied with a faint, sickening, cracking sound - and with it the screaming abruptly cut off. He felt ill, his stomach - though almost empty - threatening to empty any remaining contents.

After 5 minutes of sprinting, full of fear and horror, they got back to their camp. Beatrice stood there, hunched over, hands on her knees, gulping in breaths, as Janson collapsed onto the ground - resisting the urge to begin retching. He brought a hand up to rub his cheek, which he found to be slick with tears. Shuddering, he looked over to Beatrice, who's expression matched the horror he was feeling.

"He... He..." She began, her voice airy as she too fell to her knees, blinking rapidly, trying to process what had just happened. They didn't speak for a while after that, a solid 10 minutes passed - both of them staring off vacantly in random directions. Though Janson was thinking over what the man had said, his behavior, the entire interaction. Eventually he looked up.

"B-Beatrice..." Her head jerked up immediately, he rarely called her that "That man he... " He was having trouble collecting his thoughts, all of them flying around in different directions "He kept... talking about those darts - why? He was obviously physically sick, not just mentally ... and he had one lodged in his shoulder... he was screaming about _bugs in his brain_ for gods sake... It was like..."

"It was like... the dart... made him sick?" Beatrice finished his thought, and he nodded a bit - a wave of nausea washing over him. This had all started after the berg touched down, and they shot something into the camps - undoubtedly those darts.

"We-We need to wash ourselves... sterilize everything. Keep our noses and mouths covered and don't let anyone near here..." The words came haltingly, and with a panicked quickness. Though Beatrice it seemed was in full agreement, nodding her head softly as he spoke.

"We can't take any chances..." Her voice had regained some of its previous strength, and she looked up at him with a stony expression "We have leftover cloth, I can make masks out of them. We'll use todays water to wash ourselves, and go get some more once we're clean..."

"... We're going to run out of food... " A thought neither of them wanted to think about, but it was inevitable.

"We'll... we'll figure something out Janson... "


	6. Strained

The continuing hours where a blur, washing themselves clean, gathering more water, Beatrice making masks to cover their mouths and noses. The entire time her face was set in stone, working methodically. Janson was no different, he did his tasks efficiently, and when he had nothing left to do he set himself to another job - just to distract himself from the internal, gut twisting, pain and fear they were both feeling.

“Johannes.” His name being spoken broke him from his concentration on his work, he’d set to repairing the shack they called a home. He turned to the source, knowing something was very very wrong. In their entire time together he could count on one hand the times she’d called him that.

Beatrice, her voice had come out meek, broken, frightened. She was staring at him with wide eyes, her expression twisted in fear, looking like a terrified and hopeless child. Tears glistened in her eyes, and he felt a spike of protective instinct. Without a word he dropped what he was doing, moving towards her, and she abruptly ran forward - quickly closing the distance between them, and slammed into him in a tight hug. He felt her digging her fingers into the back of his shirt, clutching at him for dear life, and he held her tightly - protectively. A few muffled sobs escaped her, and he felt her tears soaking through his shirt - her face pressed to his shoulder.

She rarely cried, in front of him at least. He’d only caught her during one of those times on a few occasions, otherwise he could only tell by her appearing after leaving his sight with the area around her eyes pink and puffy. During those times he was almost never able to do anything for her, except now. He was sure he was holding her so tightly it hurt, but she made sure to return it in kind. Her body shaking with the force of her crying, he was the only thing keeping her standing, the only thing keeping her grounded - keeping her from completely giving up.

He wanted to cry, he wanted to collapse onto the ground and sob like an infant, curl up into a ball and let the tears flow, but he refused. He knew he was Beatrice’s only stability then, like she’d been for him for so long. Before then she’d been the strong one, only rarely ever breaking, and Janson was almost dangerously unstable. Frequent nightmares and night terrors plagued him, he had days where he adamantly refused to talk, days where he didn’t even get out of bed. But she took care of him, kept him going, motivated him when she was able. She didn’t give up on him, and now it was his turn to not give up on her.

Janson had no idea how long they stood there before Beatrice’s sobs finally faded into small whimpers and the occasional shudder. Slowly, very slowly, she drew her head from his shoulder - her face red and splotchy, tears coating her cheeks, not making eye contact with him. For a moment it looked as if she’d start crying all over again, her face contorting slightly, but with a sniff she swallowed her tears and finally looked up at him.

“I’m scared.” The words came as a whisper, and drove a nail of pain into Janson’s heart. He tried to smile, reassure her - somehow.

“I am too Bee, I’m... fucking _terrified_ but... I promise you, we’re going to make it through this alright? I’m not gonna let anything hurt you.” He spoke with a finality, forcing confidence in his words. She only gave him a tearful smile in return, shaking her head.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep Jansy…”

 

* * *

 

They both began to work on reinforcing their hut once the masks were complete, covering their mouths and noses - tattered cloth that went through the wash about five times before Janson let either of them put them on. The work was grueling, but it provided them with a distraction from the fear, gave their fidgeting hands something to do.

They worked well into the night, before retiring inside. Beatrice, recovered from her breakdown earlier that day, moved silently over to the pack in the corner of the room, pulling out two cans of beans and two plastic spoons - tossing one of both to Janson before plopping herself down on her cot. They both pried the lids off silently, and he sat down himself - eating slowly, not very hungry but knowing that they both had to eat. Their rations were running low, and for now they agreed to one meal a day (not including the breakfast they’d eaten before running into that man, which Janson ended up vomiting up later anyways) to ration food as much as they could before they’d have to go out and either scavenge some, or hunt. The latter Janson was avidly against, they needed to leave the replenishing environment alone - but he knew if worse came to worse, there was no choice in the matter.

After a while they both finished their small meals, and silently settled down in their cots - Janson’s having since been moved from blocking the door. He lay there staring up at the ceiling for a while, his mind blank and emotions dulled. It was only after he began to hear the soft snores from Beatrice did he begin to drift off into a fitful sleep.


	7. The Flare

A few weeks passed after their run in with the deranged man, and slowly they began to build defenses around their tiny settlement. Supplies were running dangerously low by that point, and both of them were weakened by the smaller and smaller portions of their meals they’d have each day. But in place they filled their stomachs with sterilized water, always boiled and allowed to cool before either of them dared ingest it.

Their peace of mind however had disappeared forever, they were constantly on the lookout for threats. Sometimes on treks a bit out of their camp they’d find corpses, reeking with decay, each either with one of those darts lodged somewhere into their bodies - or the type of injuries that suggested murder. The latter where usually mangled far beyond recognition. They didn't dare get close to the remains of the dead.

Neither of them wanted to venture out. But they did on occasion, ran into other survivors - those who’d taken similar precautions to them. They’d stay a good ten yards from each other at all times, and Beatrice and Janson soon learned of the virus spreading across the area. Those who’d lived the initial slaughter called it the Flare, after the sun flares that destroyed their world. They learned that it was the main settlements that had the breakouts, but heard nothing of the bergs they’d seen hovering over one. So they said nothing of them. Eventually they were informed that the virus was changing, evolving. People were beginning to survive longer, rather than die in a few hours, living to only go insane within a few days. The group told them that those afflicted where starting to be called "Cranks".

They stopped going out as often after that.

Then the screams began.

Faint wailing, howling. No doubt human, crazed sounds. Laughter. Every passing day it would grow closer, every passing day their nerves frayed further. Janson had even developed a nervous tick in his eye, twitching that wouldn't stop until he calmed down.

Every passing day when the awful sounds would start, he would jump, swallow the urge to begin hyperventilating, and quickly set himself and Beatrice to work with some menial task.

But that only worked for so long.

Janson woke from a dreamless sleep with a jolt, the sounds of chaos had grown dangerously close outside. He laid there, listening, his heart beginning to pound, for a few moments, before he heard a smashing sound from close outside - and a mad cackle, some scraping noise, a more far off scream. Beatrice shot up in her cot, and he quickly followed suit, they were on their feet within seconds. Abruptly, just as they awoke, fists began to pound on the door of the hut, violently, and the brittle wood began to creak and split. The twitch in his eye started up again, and this time he wasn’t suppressing his hyperventilating. But still, he whirled around - his thoughts focused on only one thing - grabbing Beatrice, who was staring in wide eyed horror at the door, and tugging her towards the opposing wall. Silently and with adrenalin fueled speed he grabbed their weapons, slinging his pack over his shoulder, the old plank with shards of glass taped to it hefted in his hand as he handed Beatrice a knife.

She was frozen in fear, and right around then the door gave in and burst open - the wood splintered and bloodied.

A woman stood there in the doorway, beaten, bloody, a crazed grin plastered on her face and her hands bleeding profusely from the pounding she’d given the door. Without warning the crank woman bolted forward, and Beatrice was still paralyzed in place. Before she was able to dodge the woman's teeth had sunk into her arm, and she let out a shriek that chilled Janson to the bone.

His world muffled, grew tinged black around the edges, as he watched that single moment occur.

The board was brought down with a heavy thud, and shards of glass where buried into the crazed woman’s skull. Her jaw unclamped from his companions arm and she let out an inhuman shriek, swiping at him. Janson hit her three more times, only stopping when her body thudded to the floor, before whirling around to Beatrice - who had tears coating her face, holding the wound. Without thinking about it he moved to tug her back towards the opposite wall - but she shied away from him, moving herself back.

“ _Y-You’re cornering us!_ ” She cried out, sobbing now, Janson had found his own tears pouring down his face. But he didn’t reply, instead slamming his shoulder into the wall - breaking it almost instantly, it was the only wall they hadn’t reinforced, and quickly ripping away boards until both of them could squeeze through the jagged hole.

Beatrice didn’t need to be told what to do, they both bolted forward, running at full speed from their camp, their safe haven, overrun with deranged murderous monsters whose only purpose seemed to be to kill them. Legs pumping, gasping for air between sobs as they dodged plant life through the thick woods. A few gave chase after them, but eventually, thankfully, lost interest and wandered back towards their own group.

They only stopped running when the screams and wails of the infected were muffled by the distance put between them.


	8. The Wait

Beatrice was sobbing and hiccuping by the time they finally came to a halt, and she had a death grip on her arm where the cranks teeth had broken skin. She was bleeding, but not enough to warrant any cleaning up - but she needed to wash out the wound. During this time she wouldn't let Janson anywhere near her, actually going as far as threatening him with the knife whenever he attempted to take a look at the bite - to try to help her. She would shout at him that she wouldn't let him get infected with the Flare because of her, that she'd deal with it herself.

Within the first day she made him promise to kill her if she lost her mind.

He had no choice but to agree.

He kept his distance as she wished, but they didn't leave each other's sight. And he watched in silence as Beatrice dipped her wrist into the water of the small river they'd come to a halt next to, beginning to clean out the wound. He felt as if he where watching a movie, completely disconnected. Tears threatened his eyes and he just wanted t wake up from the nightmare their lives had become. While he was staring off into space Beatrice set to scrubbing all the areas the crank had come in contact with her. Once satisfied she turned to him, snapping her fingers a little when she noticed the vacant stare.

"Jansy, got any cloth?" He snapped his attention over to her, and blinked. After a pause he nodded slowly, reaching into the pack he'd snagged from their camp and tossing her a roll of jaggedly torn strips of fabric. It wasn't ideal, but it worked. She used one of the strips to clean out the punctures more thoroughly, and wrapped a few others around her wrist once she'd finished up.

When she rose again she turned, her face downcast, tears slipping down her face and soaking into the fabric over her nose and mouth.

Janson so badly wanted to hug her, to tell her it was going to be alright, but he knew she wouldn't let her near him. She wouldn't risk his getting infected.

He watched, unable to help, as she took a seat about ten feet away - the tears continuing in silence for a few minutes before eventually dying off.

He set up camp there in the small clearing, and Janson was the one to gather wood to start a fire the next morning - an easy task with all the dead, dry and brittle trees around. It was still night then, and they wanted to be careful - the last thing they needed was a pack of cranks spotting them due to the light of their fire. Beatrice didn't object, she merely sat in silence with her back pressed to the base of a tree - the knife he'd given her held tightly in her hand.

"One of us needs to stay up." She murmured after a while of silence, and Janson blinked a few times - realizing he'd been crouching over the fully prepped fire pit for the past five minutes. With a sigh he nodded some, beginning to offer himself up to do so before she cut him off, "I'll take first watch."

"... Alright." He didn't argue, but he didn't feel as if he could possibly sleep. He was ready to break down crying again, with the knowledge his only friend in this apocalyptic hell was infected with a virus that drove people insane - he knew he would crumble when he lost her. The knowledge that he was going to lose her within the next few days weighed down on him like a ton of bricks.

 

* * *

 

Janson's eyes cracked open, and he groaned - disoriented, in pain, and stiff. Slowly he sat up, beginning to recall the events of the day prior. He must have dozed off after scooting away from the fire pit, and Beatrice must not have woken him. With a jolt he whipped around, looking for her, and was relieved to find her crouching by a flickering fire, though he raised a brow at seeing her rewrapping her wrist.

"Bea-"

"Cauterized the wound." She cut him off abruptly, not looking at him, and without realizing it his face had contorted into that of pain. He knew why she'd done it, to avoid any infection atop of the virus. But he still shuddered at the thought of being burnt, recalling the feeling all too well. A hand reached around and rubbed some of the scars on his lower back as he pushed those thoughts, and memories, away. Either way he couldn't help but notice she looked... fine, really. Her face wasn't any paler, her cheeks a healthy color, she didn't resemble the first crank they'd ran into in the slightest. Though she looked a bit tired she didn't seem ill.

"... How do you feel?" A stupid question probably, but he needed to know. From what they'd heard the virus took affect within hours, and within days those afflicted lost their sanity.

"...Emotionally or physically." A reply at least, and she glanced at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Well... both." He almost felt the need to recoil. He wasn't used to her being so cold towards him.

"... For starters it feels like I have a huge pile of ice cubes in my gut, anxiety probably, and my mentality isn't at its best right now." She looked away again, using a stick to stoke the fire some as he formulated a reply.

"And physically?"

"...Fine." There was surprise evident on her face, and she looked up at him with almost... confusion - as if expecting him to have an answer. But he didn't, as far as they knew it was a new, evolved, strain that took even longer to take effect. Breaking eye contact he stared down at the ground, fiddling with the edge of his shirt.

"Well tell me if anything changes, alright?"

"...Alright."


End file.
